


F is for Freaks

by MariaPriest



Series: Stargate Drabbles' Alphabet Challenge [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Jack learns of his "special nature."





	F is for Freaks

**Author's Note:**

> "New Order Part 2" missing scene.  
> This story was inspired in part by a line O'Neill says in Stargate Universe "Subversion" episode.

“What do you mean, I’m ‘special’?” growled O’Neill.

“All right then, I’ll tell ya again. You have a very rare gene that makes it possible for ya to operate certain Ancient technologies. That makes you special.”

One thing O’Neill had noticed early on in their conversation was that Dr. Carson Beckett’s Scottish accent thickened when he was stressed. And right now, it was pretty damn thick. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his superior officer’s glare that told him in no uncertain and unspoken terms that he should back off.

“Colonel, I have it as well,” Beckett said so softly that Jack didn’t hear him.

Hammond leaned forward and placed his forearms on his desktop. “It was Dr. Jackson who had the idea that the Antarctic weapon might actually be controllable only by Ancients because of its power, Colonel. Not a great leap in logic, seeing that no one else had been able to activate it again. Plus Dr. Jackson recalled that a few things SG teams have brought back over the years only seemed to work either after you’d touched them or were in close proximity to them.”

“How do we know it’s this ... _gene_ thingy, sir? It could’ve been ... _hormones_?” _God, please let it be hormones. I don’t wanna be a freak. I don’t wanna be a lab rat, which all too often happens to freaks related to this program_ , he thought desperately.

Dr. Beckett said, “Don’t think we didn’t pursue that line of inquiry, Colonel. We, I mean, some of my fellow scientists did look inta that. Once I discovered you and I share a –“

“What? You mean you and I have this magical mystery gene in common?” Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s just _peachy_.”

“Colonel,” Hammond said in a warning tone. Jack settled down — a little. “Dr. Beckett, please continue.”

Carson turned his head toward Hammond and nodded but kept his eyes on the fuming colonel. “To test my, oh, and Dr. Jackson’s hypothesis, I sat in that . . . chair. The most I could get it to do was switch on a bit. But that was more than anyone has been able to do. And I was able to activate the same things you had in the past.”

O’Neill studied Beckett’s earnest, open, somewhat scared face. His misdirected animosity towards the physician/geneticist faded and soon the animosity vanished altogether as he had no candidate for it. Of course Beckett should be scared. Those vultures from NID or Area 51 were sure to have him — _them_ — on their radar.

Something else occurred to him. _Oh, great. It’s bad enough I have to keep plugging Ancient knowledge leaks in my head. Now I have to control my genetic code, too?_ He sighed deeply and felt tired just thinking about it.

Then something Beckett said gave him hope. “Doctor, can you explain why you got the chair to just ‘switch on a little’ and I got it to ... do more?”

Carson relaxed slightly at the softer tone the colonel used. “I believe the difference in how the chair acted with you and with me may be due to the gene’s expression or regulation or even the influence of other genes. I’m not sure yet. That’ll take some time to study, especially since there are so few people with it.”

Jack sighed once again. “General, who knows about this?”

Hammond grimaced. He knew Jack was primarily concerned about SG-1, but his very private friend deserved the full roll call. “I’m afraid a lot of people already know. The president, the Joint Chiefs –“

“The NID,” Jack interrupted with bitter resignation.

“Unfortunately, I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

“What about my — SG-1?”

George caught how Jack veered away from referring to SG-1 as _his_ team. Part of him grieved along with the colonel. “Dr. Weir and I have tried to keep it from them and the rest of your command so you could inform them as you see fit.”

 _Aw, crap and double crap._ A dejected Jack O’Neill, USAF Colonel-soon-to-be-General, reluctantly surrendered to the fact that his life had changed drastically once more. This time, he couldn’t see an upside.

FFFF

As soon as he arrived at Cheyenne Mountain, he asked Walter Harriman to have SG-1 come to his office. He took one of the chairs from Walter’s office and put it in his. He barely had enough time to hang up his dress uniform jacket when Daniel knocked on the door frame.

“Hi, Jack!” Daniel said brightly. He entered without permission, Sam Carter and Teal’c right on his heels. “Welcome back. How was General Hammond? Washington? The president?”

“Thanks, Daniel. Fine, creepy, and fine.” As soon as he saw Carter start with the at-attention stance and salute, he pulled a face. “Carter, don’t you dare start that ... salute-the-general stuff with me.”

The major smiled self-consciously and said, “Yes, sir. Congratulations. Good to have you back, sir.”

“Indeed, O’Neill. The entire base has missed you, though some more than others,” said Teal’c.

“Okay, what was the pool?”

“Some predicted that you would decline the promotion and resign. The winners, however, are those who wagered you would return with stars on your uniform epaulets. I was in the latter group and am looking forward to collecting my winnings.”

Teal’c had come close to losing, as Jack had been undecided until Hammond had convinced him otherwise — Hammond knew him too well and had pulled his strings expertly. Besides, he’d do anything for George Hammond, including walking to Hell on his knees while singing the Marine Corps Hymn.

“Excellent! Then you’re buying tonight. How does the Pompei Trattoria sound?”

All three of his former teammates agreed eagerly. Despite that, Jack’s foul mood deepened as he now realized he already saw them as his “former” team.

“Take a seat, why don’tcha?” Jack asked, his Minnesota roots showing. “T, could you close the door, please?” He noted that Carter waited until he sat down on the edge of Hammond’s — he still thought of it as George’s, and not Elizabeth Weir’s or certainly not his — desk.

“First piece of business. I’m assuming everyone on base knows about me wanting to say a few words as I officially take command.” O’Neill paused as the reality of what was happening really registered for the first time. “Carter, double-check with Walter on the details, please. Especially the cakes. Can’t celebrate without cake.” _If she only knew what we’re really going to celebrate_.

“Second piece of business.” Once again he paused. He’d played this out in his head numerous times during his flight from D.C., but hadn’t come up with any acceptable way to tell his closest friends, his family, that he was a freak of nature. That his double helix had double-crossed him. Would they ever look at him, talk to him, want to be with him the same way ever again, knowing this _freakish_ thing about him? And God forbid he tell them about these “visions” he’d been having for years about some bowling barber in Indiana. That wasn’t freaky, though; that was just plain whacko.

_So just tell ‘em, you big chicken._

Jack cleared his throat. “Second piece is that I seem to have some rare genetic ... anomaly that lets me _turn on_ Ancient thingies so they can _do_ Ancient . . . thingies.”

SG-1’s expressions did not change. If anything, they looked as if they were expecting him to go on to the third piece of business.

Jack was dumbfounded. Maybe they didn’t understand. “You do have some idea what this means, don’t you?”

“Of course we do, Jack,” said Daniel. “It means that we can better defend Earth and her allies. Maybe use some technology that will benefit us in other ways. I think we suspected something like this for years.” Teal’c and Carter nodded their agreement.

Jack leaned toward the archeologist. “It means I’m a freak, Danny. Who knows if the next Ancient device I touch will blow us up? Or reverse Earth’s rotation so the sun sets in the east? Or make me lose my hair?”

Carter snickered at the image of a bald O’Neill before saying, “Sir, I think this is a non-issue. With as many devices as you’ve had contact with, nothing untoward has happened. Except to Anubis and his fleet.”

“It doesn’t bother any of you that I’m ... _different_?”

“It does not, O’Neill. Having spent seven years observing humans, it became obvious to me early in my life among the Tau’ri that you, to use your word, have always been _different_.”

“Gee, thanks, T. Makes me feel all warm and cozy.”

“Jack,” said Daniel, “so you’re a ‘freak.’ So what? So am I, and Sam and Teal’c.”

“What? No way you’re freaks. You’re ... _you_. You are _not_ freaks.”

“Think about it, Jack. Our freakishness is acquired, while yours is natural. Take me, for example. I ascended to a higher plane of existence for a while.”

“And me, sir. I’ve acquired some fairly unique abilities thanks to the leftovers from an alien parasite that died inside me.”

“Though I am not considered a ‘freak’ among my own people, I am one here, as I once carried Goa’uld larvae within my body for more years than you have been alive, O’Neill. I am also much older than I appear to be and considerably stronger than Tau’ri of similar size and build to myself.”

“So you see, Jack,” Daniel said, “you’ve always been a part of our little freak show.”

Jack O’Neill sat up straight and looked from Daniel to Sam to Teal’c. He found himself embracing his “specialness,” button-busting proud that he was in such freakin’ good company.

the end  
copyright 2010


End file.
